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'Twas the night before recess and all through the House
Not a PC was working, not even a mouse.
Each techie was stymied, with glassy-eyed stare
For they knew that the Congressmen soon would be there.
I'd gone on vacation from running their LAN
(It was working - I promise - when my time off began)
So my kitties and I, in our one-bedroom hovel
Had just settled down with our favorite novel.
When right by the nightstand arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Ny beeper, computer, and cellular modem
Had sung out at once, a real sign of forebodin'.
I shut them all off as I answered the phone.
"Hey, what's the matter? Not the network?", I groaned.
Boss said, "It's a crisis, your PCs all blew!
"Fix them tonight or sweetheart, you're through."
Christmas or not, his threats were so dire,
I rushed to Cap Hill in a squealing of tire,
Storming in as the help desk was just storming out.
Sure 'nuff, they told me, my job was in doubt.
"We've booted and programmed, we've reinstalled Windows,
We've vacummed and schpritzed 'til each PC glows.
And still, with all that, the damned error's the same -
Still 'Server not found' when we type log-in names."
"We've run," sighed the tech, "all tests diagnostic'ly.
"You've killed the LAN dead," he said very caustic'ly.
Me fled through the door but maliciously paused:
"You don't want a help desk, you want Santa Claus."
"Of course!" I exclaimed, "I'll get on the phone!"
"I'll call the North Pole, see if anyone's home."
A half-hour later the old elf drove 'round
In a brigth red Ferrari that had the top down.
Red pocket protector all trimmed in white fur
And reindeer-hide boots with platinum spur
Were all that remained of his former persona.
"I'm TechGuru now," said Rudolf's ex-owner.
Me examined the server with studious gloom,
Then punted the system halfway 'cross the room.
"I rebooted your server," he said with a shrug.
"The problem's quite simple - its switch had a bug."
The Congressmen cheered as their PCs awoke,
But I saw Santa's bill and started to choke.
"You've got to be kidding," I said feeling sick.
"Two thousand dollars for one well-place kick?"
"You called me, I fixed it, now pay up," he said,
"Or I'll virus your LAN and you'll wish you were dead."
Mis cold elvish eyses as he twisted his head
Wade the server blink weakly. My soul filled with dread.
I spoke not a word, wrote a check for his work
Which he pocketed quickly and sneered, the old jerk.
"Delivering toys - what a moneyless bore!
"Now it's five hundred bucks just to walk through your door."
Me sprang to his car, to Newt Gingrich he whistled,
And away our check flew like the down from a thistle.
A help desk is fine, when your PC is dead
But to troubleshoot LANs takes a Santa instead.
-- Cynthia Morgan, Government Computer News